Chapter Three
It was a chill, crisp autumn afternoon when I stepped down from the slow train at the tiny station of Tivenham St. Mary and squinted into the fast-sinking sun. Sir Neville had said that somebody would be there to meet me but the place seemed deserted. I picked up my bags, waving away the porter, and came out of the station. Nobody was about but as I drank in the clear evening air after the choking fumes of London, I heard an engine in the distance and, turning, saw a motor-car approaching down the road. It pulled up alongside me and an inquiring face in horn-rimmed spectacles peered out.
‘Hallo. You must be Mr. Knox,’ it said.
I assented. The inquiring face alighted from the car. It was attached to a slightly-built young man with a self-effacing manner.
‘I am Simon Gale,
